


nowhere else to go but home

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Insecurity, Oliver is more a presence than a character in this, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Worth Issues, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Thea has all of these, set in the s3 hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sudden crash of thunder doesn’t startle her awake; hard to do that when she can’t sleep from the fear that leaves her curled into a tight ball in the center of her bed.</p><p>And Thea hates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nowhere else to go but home

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this idea for a while. One of the truly good things about the latter half of s3, I felt, was the bond between Oliver and Thea and how that was allowed to grow and develop so much more once she knew his identity. So I was disappointed and more than a little frustrated that the finale and subsequent season pretty much all but threw that away. I'll never be over how dismissive Oliver was of his own sister's PTSD so I decided to write something where Thea has people who do care about her and her well-being. I hope you enjoy!

The sudden crash of thunder doesn’t startle her awake; hard to do that when she can’t sleep from the fear that leaves her curled into a tight ball in the center of her bed.

And Thea hates it.

She’d trained under her father for months, found out she’d been betrayed, and then trained for more with her brother, all in the name of being able to defend herself, of no longer being helpless, defenseless, and afraid.

But that all had been taken from her, here in this very loft.

Like a trance, her feet slide off the mattress and onto the floor, and Thea moves quietly across the room. She pauses for a long moment with her hand closed around the doorknob, heart pounding in her ears. It doesn’t want to move, to turn, it doesn’t want to see what or who might be waiting on the other side.

Finally she wrenches it open, eyes darting about wildly in the empty space. No one. But this is only the hall…Thea pivots on her heel to grab her bow and quiver before stealing down the stairs, feet light and as soundless as she can make them.

Streaks of lightning intermittently illuminate the wide, open living room, completely vacant. Still, she roams from room to room, bow at the ready as she checks each one. She returns to the second-floor landing last of all, the only room she wishes wasn’t empty: Oliver’s.

Because the emptiness of the loft does little to assuage her fears…the loft was empty, too, before Ra’s al Ghul arrived. Thea doesn’t want to be alone.

She moves at a far more sluggish pace back down to the living room, flicking on the lights as she goes, and comes to stand before the spot. The stain.

It had seeped into the floor and permanently marked it before anyone had even thought to try and clean it; they’d all been busy saving her life, after all. But every second she looks at it all Thea can think is _I died, I should have died_. Would have died, if not for Oliver.

Oliver, who saved her, like always, and then was gone, like always. Still, between Malcolm and Roy she’d never been alone in the loft until the dust had settled, and they’d followed her brother’s example and disappeared. Left her.

She’d grown up a spoiled brat and she can’t help but think perhaps it’s her own selfish tendencies talking. After all, she reflects as she drops onto the couch with a sigh, she despised Malcolm; and Roy had decided she couldn’t follow after him, had left her naked and alone and used with no forwarding address. Felicity had called Diggle to report that Oliver had said he was actually happy leaving on this vacation with her. Thea had managed to dredge up a chuckle with the others, each little burst of laughter ripped from a throat that didn’t feel much like laughing anymore. It felt like snarling in anger.

Why did he always leave her behind? What was so wrong with her that he never stayed?

She takes a deep shuddering breath before drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her head there, anything to take her eyes off that morbid stain. Instead, she attempts to recall her big brother in her mind’s eye; his tight hugs, his warm smiles, the way his eyes always carried a slight hint of mischief whenever he called her Speedy.

But none of that had made him happy. Not happy enough to stay. _Thea_ wasn’t enough. And she never will be.

The sooner she accepts it, the better. It has to be. Anything would be better than this yawning pit of wrath and self-loathing that seems to threaten to swallow her up from the inside out. If she could just forget what it meant to feel, become as empty as these huge rooms she can’t stand. She hadn’t been able to take the echoing space in Queen manor when her mother had been imprisoned and Oliver gone— _again, not a call, not a letter, had he even **cared?**_ —and she can’t now.

If she could just sleep…

Thea’s head jerks back up and she turns this way and that. How could she let her guard down like that, she can’t, not here, not ever again while she’s in this place all alone like before, anyone could attack her, _kill_ her, and Oliver isn’t ever coming back to save her, not now that she’s been long forgotten—

With a near-scream of frustration, Thea throws the bow aside and lets the quiver and its arrows fall with a clatter as she stands from the couch and marches to the door, tugging on the first pair of shoes she can find as she goes. The door slams behind her and instantly she is breathing easier, like a weight has been lifted off her chest. It’s still not enough.

She’s the only one in the street when she rushes out of the lobby doors, her and several cars racing by back and forth. The rain starts to soak through her thin layers immediately and yet Thea finds herself hardly noticing. Instead she is smiling as she strides away, putting as much distance between that place and herself as possible.

It’s late, possibly very early in the morning. She’d been out with the others, their new team, only an hour or so before, until the rain had driven most anyone indoors. It won’t stay that way, she’s sure. The sky will clear, the sun will rise, and Thea will have to find her way…somewhere. Not home, she doesn’t have a home anymore.

By the time her feet start to grow tired she’s realized they’ve been following a familiar path to a very particular place, and eventually she lifts her eyes to gaze up at the apartment building. There’s a peace to her in this moment, all the anxieties and anger washed away with the rain, her mind quieted. So she doesn’t think twice about entering, riding the elevator up and walking down to the end of the hall to knock at the door.

There’s a long pause and the beginning of a thought occurs to her that there’s no _way_ anyone else in their right mind is awake right now, particularly not the ADA—but then there’s the sound of the bolt sliding and the door is yanked open.

“Thea?” Laurel blinks at her in a robe and pajamas. “What’re you doing here?”

“I…” She doesn’t really know what she means to say. Couldn’t sleep? Didn’t want to be alone? All of the above? She’s struck with shame at how troublesome and pathetic she must seem, and can feel her throat closing up rather than let her speak another word.

Laurel doesn’t hesitate to pull her into her arms. It’s not until then that she notices how cold she is, soaked to her skin and trembling against the other woman. “Come on, we need to get you inside, and dry.”

She’s quickly bundled up in several towels and given clean clothes to change into. Thea gets dressed and towels off her hair, wandering into the kitchen to find Laurel brewing what looks like tea. “It’s the only thing I have decaf,” the lawyer explains at her raised eyebrow. “Considering it’s two in the morning and you look exhausted.”

“I can’t sleep in the loft,” she admits, picking at a thread in the shirt she’s been given. “I don’t like it there anymore. It’s too…I’m too—I don’t like being there alone.”

Laurel’s face falls and she steps forward, reaching out to brush some stringy strands of hair back from her face. “Oh Thea. Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I don’t know, I just thought it shouldn’t be that big a deal, I’m just being—”

“No you’re not.” The counter is accompanied with Laurel turning to pour water into two steaming mugs, and one is then pressed into her hands.

“You didn’t even let me finish,” she points out.

“You didn’t need to. It doesn’t matter what that sentence was going to end with, Thea, you’re never ‘just being’ anything. Ok?” Laurel waits for her to meet her eyes, which she does after a few moments’ hesitation. “If you’re ever hurting, if you’re ever not feeling safe or comfortable, I want to know about it. We want to know about it, John and I, we’re you’re teammates.” Thea finds a small smile at that, which the other woman shares before adding, “And I’ve thought of you as family for a long time now.”

She’s surprised at how immediate the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes is, and tries to cover it up by taking a sip of the tea. “So have I.”

Laurel’s smile is still knowing over the rim of her own mug. Several minutes go by, neither of them talking, and Thea feels herself calming. Laurel’s apartment is bright and awash in warm colors, full of enough furniture and odds and ends so as to be comforting. She wonders if these things have been accumulated over the years of solitude; if Laurel, like Thea, has been trying to fill the empty spaces.

“There’s a spare room,” the older woman speaks, as if reading what’s on Thea’s mind. She sets the mug aside and waits, wanting this but wanting just as much not to have to ask for it. “It probably needs some dusting, but if the loft isn’t somewhere you can stay then it is yours to use.”

She keeps her eyes on her feet as she mutters a “Thank you.” Laurel simply reaches out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

They both finish their tea before she follows the other to the spare room, where they make quick work of changing the sheets. Laurel grabs some extra blankets from the hall closet and Thea puffs up one of the pillows before crawling in. She feels another light squeeze to the shoulder and hears her friend’s “Goodnight,” but the late hour has caught up to her and Thea’s answer comes in the form of a yawn.

It’s an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and yet she has no trouble letting her eyes slip shut. Her fears can’t seem to touch her now, even without her bow and arrows to protect her, not with the knowledge that Laurel is just down the hall. Any thoughts of what needs to be done, what needs moved and what will stay, can wait for tomorrow.

Thea sleeps late and wakes to sunlight falling across the bed and a light knock at the door. “Come in,” she calls out, pushing herself up with one arm and rubbing at her eyes with the other. To her surprise, it’s Diggle who enters, holding a box under each arm. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey.” He places both boxes on a desk sitting against the wall and opens each for her inspection. Her bow and quiver of arrows, along with her sword wrapped in a cloth, rest in one and what looks like her entire collection of shoes are in the other. “Laurel’s watching the rest of your things in the car. We’ll start bringing it up in turns,” he explains. “You just get unpacking and let us know if we missed anything.”

“Ok,” she agrees, still a little stunned. Digg leaves her to it, footfalls fading away as he heads back down to the car.

Thea wonders how early Laurel must have woken up to call him, how John must have had to get up and kiss his wife and baby daughter goodbye before breakfast in order to drive with the lawyer over to the loft, how much time it must’ve taken to find the boxes—maybe they took them from Oliver’s room, Oliver who’d moved his things in with her and then left it all behind—and pack everything away in order to load it into the car and bring it here…just so she wouldn’t have to go back.

And of course each piece of clothing is folded neatly when she pulls them from the boxes, Laurel helping her start to decide what to put in the spare dresser and what to hang in the closet, while Diggle’s found a hammer and some nails in order to hang up her quiver and bow. Thea runs down to the corner store for some eggs and mix—Laurel’s cupboards and fridge are woefully bare, she never has learned how to cook—and John shows them how he decorates his daughter’s pancakes with chocolate chip smiley-faces.

Sitting around the table, laughing with a full stomach and several hours’ uninterrupted sleep, while her things sit half-unpacked in the spare room— _her room_ —Thea feels something for the first time since she’d nearly died in that loft.

She feels at home. And it’s enough.


End file.
